Cornerstone (19 page)

“Everyone gets to make choices about where their life goes.”

“Not like we do.” he says. “We have a very conscious choice. You can have a Simple Life, apart from all of this, or you can choose to throw yourself right in the middle of it and train to protect others.”

“And you picked jumping in.”

“Mmm hmm.”

“So, you’re an adrenaline junkie.”

His laugh is held behind closed lips.

“No. If you think of it that way, I’m actually a peace junkie. Being one of the Contego means I’m choosing a more focused destiny, to train and commit to protecting the Ianua, but it doesn’t guarantee I’ll come to harm from it. I could wind up being a ninety-year-old Contego that never gets the chance to protect anything more important than a bell-ringer’s bucket at Christmas. Who knows? There are no guarantees.”

“Then why did you pick it?”

“I might be able to help, and that seems like the right thing to do.” he says. “It seems like a life worth living.”

I lean back in his chair, the tips of my toes touching the floor as I rock myself back and forth. We let the music waltz in our silence.

“So how does it happen?” I ask. “Did you have to sign a form or something? Take classes?”

“No.” He chuckles again. “The first step is to be counseled by the Addo. Some people know right off which destiny they want. I did. When I went for counseling, the Addo seemed to know too. We never talked about alternatives.”

“That’s normal?”

His shrug is loose and relaxed. “Everything’s normal. It took Mark a week to decide. Brandon held off for a year. Some people take longer. You get all the time you need. But if you decide to become Contego, the Addo will Impression you to make it final.”

“Impression?”

“I’ll show you.” he says. He leans toward me off the bed, the shadow of his left arm reaching for me. “Give me your hand.”

A shiver pushes through me as I hold myself out to him. He touches me and the icy quiver in my stomach melts with his warmth. His fingertips slide the length of my hand to the wrist, and then pull back until his palm is over my first two fingers.

“Do you feel that?” he asks. I touch my fingertips to his skin and feel something I don’t expect. His palm is not smooth. The skin is ridged. I feel with my two fingers and then turn his hand over in both of mine and touch with my thumbs. There is a shape on his palm, something right in the skin that seems as though it should be familiar to me, but I can’t make it out. I brush my fingertips over the shape, again and again, growing more frustrated with each touch. His palm still in my hands, he finally leans over and flicks on the lamp with his opposite hand.

My eyes burn with the sudden light but I blink hard, forcing them to adjust. I blink again, staring into his palm. It looks as though there is nothing there. I rub my thumb over it and then, only because I know where it is, the shape comes into sharp focus. And it is more than familiar. It’s the same design that was in the bottom of my tea cup this morning.

“How did you get this?” I ask.

“The Addo burned it into my hand.”

There are a million questions that come to mind, but of course, the only one that surfaces is the dumbest one. “Did it hurt?”

“Yes.” he says. I fall silent as I trace the mark again with both my fingers and my sight, to be sure this isn’t either a daydream or a nightmare. Then I drop his hand and he sits back on the bed, watching me closely.

“Did you have to do that?”

“Only if you choose to be Contego.” he says. I glance at his hand again, palm down, hiding the nearly invisible mark.

“What does it do?”

“It’s not magic.” he laughs. “It’s ID. The average person would think nothing of this,” He raises his left hand and puts his fingers to his temple as if he is going to push back his hair. He pauses. The mark on his palm is angled toward me and even clearer than when I was holding it inches from my face, although it would still be undetectable if I wasn’t looking for it. He drops his hand. “That’s how we show one another who we are.”

I flash back to the night I sat in his car, crying against his window, with my broken arm in my lap. I remember him greeting my mother. I remember him rubbing his head like that. I thought he was freaked out at the sight of our overflowing apartment. I think of my mother, how she knew the way to the Reese’s house and how she stood on their front porch, rubbing her forehead too. My mother, who has touched me all my life, has these same ridges hiding in her palm. I am ashamed that I never noticed.

“How long have you known what I am? Who my mom is?” I ask.

“I had no idea that you could be Contego until I saw Cora’s video. Before that,” He pauses as if he’s choosing his words carefully and my mind is too exhausted to push him to speak any faster. I’m having a hard time keeping up as it is. “I knew who your mom was. Or, at least,
what
she was. And she’s always known we were here, if she needed us.”

It makes me feel like a freak, which I should be used to, but I’m not. Not coming from his mouth. I think of the last four months at Simon Valley, not fitting in, being ridiculed and friendless and all I want to ask is why he never stepped in and helped me.

Instead, I ask, “Why now?” and Garrett’s face fills with concern as if he just read my mind.

“Nalena, your mom separated herself from the Ianua a long time ago. I knew who you were but I wasn’t allowed to have contact with you. It was her choice.”

“What do you mean? What choice?”

“The Contego protect the Alo and the work they do.” he says. “But it’s not forced on anyone.”

“Protection from what? Who does she need protecting from?”

“Protection means a lot of different things.” Garrett says. His hand drifts over the comforter. “You wouldn’t have to be on welfare. Financial support is usually a necessity for the Alo, since they spend so much time writing.”

My cheeks are shredded with heat. It’s bad enough that he knows. I think of the bridge card and every piece of worn clothing in my second-hand wardrobe. I feel the same mixture of humiliation as when I received my Ipod from a local charity at Christmas. All of our money has gone to pay for the taxes on a bulging house where stacks of memories have evicted us and for storage sheds, stuffed with reams of people, piled in waterproof Rubbermaids.

I know I should have a better sense of humanity, or at the very least some kind of virtuous understanding for how my mom sacrificed my needs for the greater good, but I don’t. And with Garrett sitting here, telling me that none of it was even necessary anyway, the anger floods me like a dark sewer.

“Do you know why my mom chose to leave the community?” I ask. Garrett’s brows crest with a worry or a secret, so I say, “I know my grandpa was murdered, but I don’t know why my mom wouldn’t stay where it was safe.”

“I have no idea.” Garrett says, but his eyes fall away from mine and I know that he is not telling me the truth. He gets up off the bed and changes the song.

“If you weren’t supposed to have any contact with me.” I repeat his words. “Then why did you come to the library?”

I hold my breath for the answer.

Say you couldn’t stand not knowing me anymore.

Say you felt something powerful.

Say it was me.

I watch his eyes cloud over and the climate in them cools.

“The Addo asked us to keep a close eye. Even if your mom wasn’t associating with us, we’re still responsible for protecting the Alo. Since you weren’t Alo, that we knew of at least, my family thought I could keep tabs on you. Since you were not in the realm of our responsibilities, we wouldn’t really be crossing the line with your mom’s intentions to stay separated...”

The floor falls out, the Earth is hollow.

Or maybe that is my soul, my body.

This beautiful boy didn’t want me to begin with. In fact, this was never about me at all. He’s been doing the world a favor, spying on my mom through me.

“It was a good plan.” I say with a cough. I jump up and the chair bucks, kicking the back of my legs. I grip the desk so I don’t fall over. At least the tremble running through me doesn’t seem to show.

“Hold on, Nalena...” Garrett says, but I’m already at the door, escaping his room and his spying and the smell of his intoxicating cologne.

“I have to check on my mom.” I say. I am even more ashamed that I’m finally thinking of her now.

~ * * * ~

My mom is sipping water at the table when I come upstairs. Mr. and Mrs. Reese and Sean are all sitting with her, leaning in, forming a supportive circle around her. The minute I walk in, everyone scuttles to straight backs, except my mom. She gets to her feet.

“Nali, I want to say I’m sorry for how I reacted.” my mom says.

“Me too.” I mumble. “Are you okay now?”

It’s hard to say what I really want to with all the Reeses watching. Garrett comes up the stairs, into the dining room, which makes saying anything else nearly impossible.

“I’m fine.” my mom says and I give her an
it’s-all-good
nod before evaporating into the darkness of the living room, but my mom follows. He drops onto the couch beside me, just like we were before.

“I’m sorry I got so upset.” she says.

“I don’t even get what you’re upset about.” I want this to be over with so badly I’m almost itching. I want to bury my face under my blankets, go to sleep and forget everything. School, Ianua, the Contego, the Alo, choices, Garrett’s eyes, Garrett’s face, Garrett not wanting me.

“Can we start over?” my mom asks.

“I am really, really tired. It’s almost midnight and I’ve got school tomorrow.”

“No you don’t.” she says. “Not in the morning, at least. You have an appointment to meet with the Addo for counseling.”

“Counseling” I say flatly.

“He’s going to give you your options, Nalena, and I want you to consider them very, very carefully. You’re so young to be making choices like this...just please...”

“I know, I know.” I say sourly. “Don’t be Contego.”

My mother frowns.

“I just don’t want you to make a decision based on what Garrett is.”

“And why would I care what he is?” I ask, crossing my arms in a hard knot.

“Because the Contego can only have relationships... romantic relationships...with other Contego. And I can see how tempting it could be to make a decision based on a crush, but…”

My spine is an iron rod. I drop my voice to a hot whisper. “Just so you know, it’s not a crush anymore. The only reason Garrett’s been so nice to me is because he was helping to look after you for this Addo guy.”

“Some of that might be true, but not all of it.” my mom says. “Especially not with the way he’s been watching
you.
”

“What do you want, proof? He just told me so himself!”

“Well, whatever he said, I know how these things work. I just need you to remember that a high school crush doesn’t mean that you’ll end up together down the road. Even if you are Contego.”

“Don’t worry, Mom.” I snap at her. “I know he’s still out of me league.”

I see the hard shot of my anger ripple across her face and I don’t care. Insisting that Garrett truly likes me, after he’s admitted that he was really on some kind of reconnaissance mission, is like driving nails into my heart. And insinuating that I would chase a one-sided relationship just twists the nails.

“That’s not what I mean.” she says, but she gives up and drops a kiss on my forehead before going back into the kitchen.

I fold up miserably on the couch, pulling the blankets over my head and spend the rest of the night thinking of all the reasons why what I told my mom might be true. With Garrett’s words in my head, pretty much confirming it, I just let go and fall asleep.

I sleep in a peaceful bubble and wake in one too. Everything is okay the moment I open my eyes and then I remember what I’d been thinking about before I fell asleep. The bubble pops and my heart sinks, settling into the rut of thought that I’d carved out last night. Garrett’s interest in me is nothing more than
his job.
He’s been hanging around, getting tangled up in my messy life, while he was really only here to ensure my mom’s safety. I should be grateful, but I’m not.

I lay on the couch, staring at the Reese’s ceiling. I listen to Iris try to sweet-talk Garrett into making her pancakes. I am paralyzed by his voice, deep and kind even as he laughs and tells Iris she’s not getting what she wants. There’s no way I can get up. I can’t think of one thing to say to him that won’t sound moronic, coming from a girl who couldn’t figure out that she is just a token in the game.

I glance over at the other couch, but my mom is not on it. Her blanket is folded neatly at the end. She’s probably writing at the dining room table since I put her so far behind by making her sick. After what she said to me last night, insinuating how shallow I might be in making my choices, I’m having a hard time caring if she’s stuck writing for three days straight without sleep.